Katriana Galloway
Ms. Hume
English II
17 October 2016
Death of Ikemefuna: From the Point of View of Ikemefuna
Everything seemed in order; the crowd of men, the pot of wine, their full attires, goatskin bags, and sheathed machetes, all indicative of a trip to a nearby village, to my village. I held the pot of wine in my arms, handed to me by one of the grown men, his cloths tied under his right arm, his machete slung over his shoulder, and his eyes dolefully looking into mine from under his furrowed brows. He stared too long, the men cast their eyes down at their feet too often, Father’s wives spoke too little, the children stayed too silent.
Father’s footsteps as he rushed outside were the only sounds to be heard in all the compound, a flustered look in his eyes and a sense of unsettledness and disorientation emanating from his words as he urged our party onwards. Light-hearted conversation amongst the men was reduced to the infrequent exchange of words as the land between our feet and Umuofia stretched until the low buildings of the village were nothing but slight inconsistencies in the even landscape. Dead leaves baking on the dry sand crackled beneath our trudging feet.
As enormous trees began to loom over us from either side of the gradually tapering pathway, the uneasiness and apprehension that had been consuming my thoughts as I dragged my toes in the sand gave way to an unfamiliar fearlessness, a hopeful sense of trust and security in Father’s presence behind me. Was I mistaken in supposing that these steps be my very last, this pot of wine my final burden, in speculating that the hushed mutters of the men marked my time’s end? Father was behind me.
I glanced back at the sound of a man clearing his throat, only to see that Father’s presence had been replaced by that of another man, with Father having retreated to the far back. The man grumbled his demands that I continue to move forward without peering behind me, reinstating terror in my heart and flooding my mind with uncertainty. My legs wobbled beneath the weight of the black pot, now assured that these unsteady strides would indeed be my last.
The descending blade brought a sharp breeze down upon the back of my neck before the unblunted edge pierced my shoulder. The black pot burst into shards at my feet, the deep red of the wine soaking the earth. I fell to the ground, my hands sinking into the sopping sand turned mud from the spilled wine and the spilled blood. “My father, they have killed me!” I cried in desperation, yearning for a refuge from my agony and the fatherly protection only Okonkwo could give me. Father came running towards me, a raised machete over his head and terror-stricken look upon his face, his actions of such certainty but his face exposing all that is of the opposite nature.
Bibliography:
http://phys.org/news/2014-12-mankind-ancient-lineages.html - image of people walking
http://www.everyculture.com/Ma-Ni/Nigeria.html - b&w image of three people at a market (clothes)
http://www.sharpen-up.com/best-machete-can-buy-2016-top-5-reviews/ - man with machete raised above his head
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:African_village,_Zomba,_Malawi.jpg - village with two figures
I liked that Ikemefuna first described his village as “a nearby village” and then corrected himself to saying “my village.” I liked how this emphasized that Ikemefuna felt Umuofia was his new home and Okonkwo was his new “father.” Also I enjoyed how you set the mood with the description of the men’s eyes. Moreover, I liked how you did not actually describe his death but instead just described Okonkwo's facial expression.
ReplyDeleteOver the course of your story, I really liked your use of vivid detail in describing emotion, physical characteristics, and the passage of time, as it was particularly compelling and added a layer of depth and surreality to the story. Particularly, your use of adjectives and descriptive adverbs made the story evocative: sentences like “Light-hearted conversation amongst the men was reduced to the infrequent exchange of words as the land between our feet and Umuofia stretched until the low buildings of the village were nothing but slight inconsistencies in the even landscape” allowed a reader to completely envision the setting, and when the action happened somewhat suddenly, the chaos of “spilled wine and spilled blood” juxtaposed with the calm, consistent atmosphere you had described.
ReplyDeleteOver the course of your story, I really liked your use of vivid detail in describing emotion, physical characteristics, and the passage of time, as it was particularly compelling and added a layer of depth and surreality to the story. Particularly, your use of adjectives and descriptive adverbs made the story evocative: sentences like “Light-hearted conversation amongst the men was reduced to the infrequent exchange of words as the land between our feet and Umuofia stretched until the low buildings of the village were nothing but slight inconsistencies in the even landscape” allowed a reader to completely envision the setting, and when the action happened somewhat suddenly, the chaos of “spilled wine and spilled blood” juxtaposed with the calm, consistent atmosphere you had described.
ReplyDeleteI thought it was beautifully written and an interesting perspective. While reading the book we don’t know what Ikemefuna was thinking or feeling while he was walking and we have heard a perspective where he had no idea he was being taken to his death but I really enjoyed spinning that and making him perceptive, uncertain, and scared. Although in most stories Ikemefuna never thought that his “father” would ever hurt him.
ReplyDelete“He stared too long, the men cast their eyes down at their feet too often, Father’s wives spoke too little, the children stayed too silent. “
ReplyDelete“assured that these unsteady strides would indeed be my last.”
“sand turned mud from the spilled wine and the spilled blood.”
Katie’s imagery and the way her words flowed together made this even, in my opinion, more interesting to read than the original. The progression of the story shows Ikemefuna to slowly become more and more aware. This takes the reader on an interesting journey. Additionally, katie does a very good job of appealing to the reader’s emotions. The story was very melancholy and eery, and I could clearly imagine what Ikemefuna was feeling once he realized that he was destined to die.
The sense of uneasiness that permeated the story was extremely profound, hinting at Ikemefuna’s premonition of his death, but doing so from a believably ignorant perspective. In addition, the shifts between apprehension about the nature of the journey and blind trust in Okonkwo made for a very powerful and very human interior monologue.
ReplyDelete“Was I mistaken in supposing that these steps be my very last, this pot of wine my final burden, in speculating that the hushed mutters of the men marked my time’s end?” This line resonated with me the most. I was able to relate it with Jesus’ death and he had to carry his cross into his death. Yet the way Ikemefuna said it in this sentence expressed that he wanted to keep his burdens and his worries. The burden of holding the wine marked his life and when he no longer had to carry it marked his death. I also enjoyed your detailed imagery and the face Okonkwo had with Ikemefuna.
ReplyDeleteThe gold of this story was the description of the setting. It is very detailed and tells of every sight, smell, sound, and the general mood of the village people walking with Ikemefuna to his death. An example is the following sentence: "Father’s footsteps as he rushed outside were the only sounds to be heard in all the compound, a flustered look in his eyes and a sense of unsettledness and disorientation emanating from his words as he urged our party onwards." The reader sees Ikemefuna in a different way in this version of his death, a witty man who is very observant of what is going on around him. He does not know he is about to die but Ikemefuna knows something is about to go down.
ReplyDeleteI could feel the anguish that Ikemefuna felt through her story. I could tell how Ikemefuna felt throughout the progression of the story. How he saw that Okonkwo held the machete to strike when in fact his face conveyed otherwise.
ReplyDelete